


fox's heart

by scroomslayer



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Blood, Child Abuse, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Gen, Hints of suicidal ideation, Ice Powers, Lesbophobia, Murder, Parent Death, References to Sex, Self-Harm, Swearing, attempted r/pe, copious amounts of references to foxes, d slur tw, how the FUcK do i tag this, how the fuck did i forget that thats like...the main focus of the 1st chapter, i think???, idk u tell me, just plzzzzz b careful when reading this it can b super triggering, l slur tw, might trigger emetophobia??? idk puking is @ least mentioned, oh and, references to r/pe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scroomslayer/pseuds/scroomslayer
Summary: Most people don’t get happy endings. Some do. Sometimes they get both.(4 an AU im working on w/ my friend. his account on here is keegank, go check him out if u havent already!!)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. 1. weapon

She’s gone.

That hawk-eyed, acid-spitting, sadistic “mother” is gone. Not dead, but gone. She’s probably out at a friend’s party, or blowing a guy just down the street or something, and there’s a big chance that she won’t be back for hours, days, maybe even weeks (which would be great and all, but very unlikely). Whatever she’s out doing, or however long she’ll be away, she’s gone.

She’s gone, and it’s the best thing you’ve woken up to since your brother left the house on that dark, dark night.

There’s a familiar kitchen knife in your hand, and a vague idea in your head, and maybe a twisted smile on your face. You’ve always hated your smile. The rare times you’ve smiled in front of your father, he’s called it disgusting, like you eat dogshit every morning, he’s said. You walk out of the kitchen with trembling legs, and the shimmering weapon in your palm almost clatters to the cold floor, but you keep going.

Eventually you’re in the living room. You gaze at the blade like it’s a sword, and you’re a gallant knight who’s about to slay a dragon. You like that thought. You take a few more steps, and now you’re looming over the writhing beast asleep on the shitty, torn up couch that you remember being slammed against a few times, whether it be by force or you just trying to get away from being beaten again. When he’s gone, you won’t have to be beaten anymore, even though you probably deserve it.

You take a few seconds to access yourself and what you’re about to do. When you do this, he’ll be dead. Gone for real. And you’ll be free. But at what cost? Do you deserve freedom? Or do you deserve to suffer? Oh, fuck it, you don’t care about that now! All you care about now is the knife in your hand and the revolting swine on the couch. You reel your hand back and plunge the knife into his chest, and he gasps as his eyes snap open. And you keep going, until there’s blood all over the couch and on your hands and on your sweater. Your father is a mess of deep red by now. The scent is nauseating, and there’s blood on your teeth and tongue and it tastes even worse than your own, and you feel like you’re gonna puke, but you already look vile enough covered in your own father’s blood, so you try your best not to. You stare at him with your widened doe-eyes.

He’s dead.

You back away, and the faintest sense of laughter rolls off your tongue. He’s dead, and you’re free now. You’re free! Fuck your dad, fuck your mom, fuck your brother, fuck what little people have ever given a shit about you, YOU’RE FREE! You rip open the door and bolt out, cackling uncontrollably as you run and you run and you run. It’s different from the other times you’ve stepped outside, because now no one can drag you back to your home. Someone will see you coated in blood, knife in hand, laughing harder than a pack of one million hyenas and charging away like there’s no tomorrow, but why the fuck would they care? Everyone in Olathe, Colorado’s a huge weirdo, you’re just worse than everyone else. Your shoes crunch into the grass with each step, and you have no idea where you’re going, but you can’t give any shits right now.

In time you’ve collapsed onto the cracked dirt, heaving remnants of laughter until you have no more laughter to give. The ground may be cold, but it feels better than any mattress you’ve slept on in that piece of shit house. You hope that your mother screams when she sees what you’ve done, that no matter how hard anyone looks they’ll never find you. You hope she thinks someone kidnapped you through the chaos, because her tiny rat heart would never be able to handle the truth. Actually, y’know what? You hope she has a heart attack and dies if she finds out that you killed him. The world could use a little less filth.

Your world slowly fades to black as you let out one final titter.

____

Your eyes crack open to the sight of a blackened sky and a cascade of twinkling stars. You lift yourself up and sigh. At least you know that it wasn’t just a dream. You look back at the bloodied knife at your side, and back at your blood-caked hands. There’s no way anyone  _ wouldn’t _ be able to tell that you killed someone. But whatever. You’ll take the stains as markings of honor, just to let anyone know that they shouldn’t have messed with you. Yeah, you like that. Everyone would fear you, Amy, the slayer of beasts.

Now that you said it to yourself, though...that name feels wrong. That name that was given to you by those slobbering hogs you had to call parents...it shouldn’t be what you go by now. That distant past is far behind you now, you’ve managed to free yourself from their tight, unyielding grasps. Now you live in the deepest forests, the lush greens of the undergrowth, tackling down whatever is foolish enough to scamper into your claws. You take a hold of your knife, fist clenched so hard over it that it’s trembling, and you lunge at a tree, watching the blade sink into the bark.

Amy isn’t here. That girl is dead, and now Fox stands in her place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no 1 has written anything on here abt beltboys childhood friend (n like,,,she just has a massive shortage of content overall on the internet) n honestly that is the hugest crime jfc,,,so im here 2 change that!! this is part of a grander scale au that i might write abt more??? idk,,,but this isnt the main focus of the au overall, jus a lil part of it. anyway i hope u liked this 1st chapter,,,plz feel free 2 leave a comment detailing ur thoughts abt it!! ty!!  
> also im sorry if this is short,,,theres not rlly any dialogue in it n im not good w/ writing things w/o dialogue so u get a tiny baby chapter i guess


	2. 2. scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh massive tw for lesbophobia. fox's dad n brother r lesbophobes n her mom is 2 but its not in this chapter.

Day five of being free. It’s so much harder than you anticipated.

The forest has not been kind to you. Usually whenever you went to eat something, it was right there for you, waiting to be devoured. Now it moves, and it’s always checking its surroundings just in case something’s lurking in the greenery. It seems like every time you try to catch something, you’re too loud, or you haven’t hidden yourself well enough, and whatever you’re trying to get notices you and runs off. Last night you were able to catch yourself an unsuspecting rabbit, and it was the best thing you’ve tasted in what felt like ages.

Now you’re eying a fox squirrel gnawing on what looks like a robin’s egg. It feels wrong to eat something with fox in the name, but you’re not supposed to care about that. You inch a bit closer, slowly raising your knife, and it perks up a bit and shoots its head around, which startles you, but luckily, it doesn’t notice you. You get closer and closer, to the point where you can stab it by now, but it looks at you with its pitiful eyes and scampers away.

But you aren’t giving up this time.

Instead you launch yourself forward, fingers reaching for the feeling of fur, as you chase after it like a foxhound. You feel the bitter air licking at your skin, commanding you to go back to your warm home, but you don’t listen to it. The only shelter  _ you’ll _ be taking is within the roots of trees, upon moss-covered rocks with your head tilted to the sky. You take a swing at it, and you miss the first time, but the second time you manage to pin it to the ground by its tail. But you’re going too fast, and not only does the knife come out and set it free, you scrape your shin against the bark of a tree and smack face first into another.

By the time you manage to catch your breath, you hug your injured shin up to your chest and hiss through your teeth in pain. Crimson blood drips from your nose and onto your already bloodied sweater. You look back at your knife from afar and cuss under your breath. You could’ve eaten today, but you were too fast, too clumsy! Pieces of shit like you aren’t cut out for the wilderness. But no, you can’t go back! YOU’RE  **NOT** GOING BACK!

You pick yourself up off of the ground, agony ravaging your body and your stomach screaming with hunger. You limp away to, hopefully, find something to patch up your leg. With each step you take, the pain in your leg gets worse and worse, and blood trickles down onto the dirt. You need to take breaks every few seconds to keep yourself from collapsing althogether. You do in time, though.

You shift awkwardly onto your side, breathing heavily, and examine the wound on your leg. It looks horrendous, with dark blood oozing from it, caking your shin. There’s a gash among the scrape, which is probably the source of most of the blood. It’s bound to get infected if you don’t treat it soon, and it’s inevitable that it’ll leave a huge scar.

…

Scar.

You lift up your trembling hand, and trace your finger across a scar just below your chin, but just above your throat…

____

“What? Do you wanna be a fuckin’ dyke?”

You sigh, and lower your eyelids. He’s brought it up again. “No, Dad. I don’t wanna be a dyke.”

“Well, you better not turn out to be a dyke,” he grumbles. “Fuck one girl and your face will get so fucked up by my fist no one will be able to recognize you, you piece of shit.”

You shift uncomfortably in your carseat. You’ve always hated that word. Dyke. It makes you want to cry, like you’ve done something wrong in your life, and now it’s coming back to get you. But you’re not allowed to cry. If Dad sees you crying, he’ll grab you by the neck and pin you to the wall and spray saliva in your face as he yells at you for being a pussy.

“If you were a lesbo I’d have to shove my dick in your mouth,” Harper says from the seat opposite of yours.

No. No no no no no no. You hate the thought of that. But now he’s put it in your head, and you can’t get it out, like a bullet.

You eyes linger out your car window. Outsiders would say that the land is beautiful, with the rolling mountains in the distance and the sturdy trees. You think Olathe’s just some dull town, because everything about it is just  _ so _ boring to you (well, excluding the residents). You try not to say that, though. The last time you called something boring, Mom slapped you across your face and yanked you by the collar of your sweater, whispering in your ear that if you said something like that again, she’d have to beat you. You hate beatings, even though you know that you deserve them. You’re a bad girl, and if anything, you deserve to die.

Pretty soon, you’re back at your house. Harper shoots out of his door first, eager to do whatever he does in his room. You’re the last to leave the car, though. You’ve always been hesitant about heading into the house, because that’s the place where you’ve been slammed against furniture, punched in the mouth, lost teeth by force, gotten black eyes…

You do get into the house. Just not without Dad yelling at you and threatening to put his fist through your mouth if you don’t get out of the car.

Now you’re standing near the dinner table, picking at a scab on your arm. You didn’t get that from a beating or anything, you made that yourself. You remember Mom yelling at you, and calling you a disgusting whore over something (you can’t remember why, though, for some reason), and then when she dragged you to your room and slammed the door, you sunk your teeth into the side of your forearm. The blood tasted sort of like metal, but you don’t know why.

Suddenly, someone latches onto your back, pulling you towards them, and places a knife against your throat. They manage to make a cut, but nothing more, and you wriggle free from their grasp. You wipe the cut with your hand, and you feel like screaming when you see blood smeared all over it. Are you going to die? You look up at the attacker, eyes wide and legs trembling. Harper stands before you, kitchen knife in hand.

“Wh...why…” you begin to say, but you don’t have a chance to finish your sentence.

“It would’ve served you right, you nasty slut!” he roars. “Thinking about fucking girls like that…”

“I DON’T THINK ABOUT THAT!” you cry out, tears in your eyes. You don’t want to cry, but now it’s just happening, tears running down your face. “I DON’T! I DON’T! I LIKE BOYS, HARPER! I DO!!”

“Yeah, right.” He scoffs. “Go touch yourself in your room, you piece of shit dyke.”

You run over to your room, and lock yourself in, but you don’t do what he told you to do. Instead, you bury your face in your knees and sob uncontrollably. He tried to kill you! But why? Why does everyone want you dead? Why do they treat Harper like a king but act like you’re the lowliest of peasants? Are you doing something wrong? What are you doing wrong? Why? WHY?!

You’re such a fucking pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so this time the chapters a bit longer,,,this was rlly hard 2 write bc i hate having 2 use slurs in my works, but i mean. if foxs jerkass dad didnt use slurs i dont think hed rlly seem as genuine. same as her brother. ALSO uhh...guess who her brother is. plz. i wanna hear who u think he is, bc he IS supposed 2 b a character in lisa: the hopeful. so uh. guess away i guess.


	3. 3. offer

You can’t believe it’s only been ten days since you first used that knife of yours. It feels like you’ve used it for ages, like a skilled swordswoman who’s taken the lives of countless people who’ve wandered into her traps. With every slice you make, every stab you create, you feel more and more like a goddess. A worthless goddess, condemned to a life on Earth.

You fucking hate it. But it’s pretty much all you have.

You hold a heavy heart to your chest, and your fox brain is trapped in your skull like an inner crown of deceit. Hornets dressed in armor of toxic vengeance buzz around in your mind, stinging the memories you want to forget. Each day you remember a venomous word dripping with acidic savagery, or a bruise left on your conscience or body. It makes you want to rip it all out with your vixen claws, but the hornets filed them down with their swords, and now you’re stuck lying there, staring at the stars, waiting for those goddamn hornets to SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY. YOU KNOW YOU’RE A BAD GIRL! YOU KNOW! YOU KNOW!!

But what can you do when you’re nothing but a miserable kit with the fractured body of a child?

Your eyes drift among the stars in the sky, and your breathing begins to steady as you gaze at the constellations. Fireflies float on the night’s air, and crickets sing bittersweet love songs. It seems so peaceful, like the world is finally giving you a break. Your eye catches a specific star. It’s faint and sort of hard to see, but it means something to you. Your eyesight slowly coasts to another star, and another, and a few more. It’s a constellation in a zig-zag shape...to you, it looks like a fox, sort of. But it’s too abstract to tell what it  _ really _ is.

You don’t mind that, though. Your eyelids flutter, and your breathing slows as you sink into the ocean of sleep.

____

“Are you okay?!”

You shoot up immediately, heart racing, and scramble for your knife. Gripping it firmly, you point it towards the stranger who said that: a young girl with long, dark hair that sweeps over her eyes. She’s wearing a light pink sweater, which looks awfully soft compared to your blood-stained one. She flinches when you whip the knife towards her.

“What do you want from me?!” you snarl.

“I just want to help you!” she replies, obviously distressed. “You’ve got blood all over you...and your knee’s all busted up.” She points to the scar on your shin.

You lower your knife. “Why do you care about that? It’s none of your business. You’ve lived a normal life, and I haven’t. Now get away from me.”

“...actually, I…” She looks down at her shoes. A pair of old and ragged black Mary Janes. “I, uh...haven’t lived all that normal of a life. I’m not sure if I’d talk about it to you, though. I barely even know you-”

“Whatever.” You set the knife off to the side. “Just, get AWAY from me.”

“But...my new dad could help you. He doesn’t have much, but he’s really nice. It would be better than living here.”

“NO!” Your muscles tense up, and tears build up in your eyes. “I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need your pity. Just leave me ALONE!”

She yelps, backing away, and at first you’re confused. You didn’t seem THAT aggressive, did you? But then you realized that you’re holding your knife out again, and for a bit, you’re both completely silent, eyes locked, not making even a slight motion. Your hand twitches, and the knife falls to the ground. You pull your hands closer to you, and stare into them, eyes agape.

“...I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I really am.”

And then, she’s gone. You slump onto your back, looking up at the sky. You don’t know what to think now. Surely what you did was right...she may have been offering help, but you don’t need help. You need to be on your own in your secluded forest, weaving through roots with your knife in hand, carving wounds into whatever tries to hurt you...but then again, are you cut out for this? Can you do this on your own? Or are you just some worthless bitch like you’ve been told? Should you have taken her offer?

You can’t manage to make it understandable for yourself. Every time you think you have your answer, more questions are raised. It’s so fucking stupid. YOU’RE so fucking stupid. You wouldn’t have gotten into this mess if you hadn’t touched that knife...no. NO NO NO. HE FUCKING DESERVED IT! You did what you had to do! If you had stayed with him a bit longer, he would’ve killed you, or you would’ve killed yourself, or your mother would’ve killed you, or your brother would’ve visited and killed you. No matter what, you would die.

Isn’t that what you deserve, though?

…

You begin to sob as the birdsong dies out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHA BET YALL DIDNT KNOW LISA WAS ALIVE IN THIS HUH  
> but anywayyyy here she is!! she is here!! n i love her even tho this is the only chapter shes gonna b in!! unless...?  
> also, 4 now her new dad is gonna b a secret. just know that hes like, legions better than her old piece of shit dad. i might reveal him in another fic rel8ed 2 this au idk??? or mayb the co-creator of this will, idk  
> ANYWAY i hope u enjoyed this chapter,,,yes i have a set amount of chapters im gonna complete now. im plannin shit out like a big boye.


	4. 4. light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh tw 4 attempted r/pe i guess,,,like its not graphic but u can tell what hes trying 2 do

You were just trying to hunt.

Here she stands before you, clad in a beige blouse and ripped jeans. Her hair is red, not the same red as your own hair or your father's, but like your brother's. There’s a shocked expression on her face, her brown eyes huge with surprise. Around her, there are a few other people that you’ve seen in Olathe a few times when you’d leave the house. She takes a step towards you, holding out her hand.

Your hawk-eyed, acid-spitting, sadistic “mother.”

“Amy...oh, baby, I’ve missed you…” she coos in a honeyed voice. You flinch at the mention of your old name. “What did they do to you? You look horrible…”

You’ve already been told that you look horrible enough times at your old house. You strengthen your grip over your knife and get into a defensive stance as you say, “Don’t spit that bullshit at me! I know you’re playing nice to drag me back into that shithole...well, I’m NOT taking it! Don’t think I forgot about the time you called me a disgusting whore and threw me into my room for five hours!”

She recoils. “...what? No, Amy, stop ly-”

“I’LL KILL YOU IF I HAVE TO!” you scream, arm quivering as you clutch your knife, directing it at her chest. “JUST LIKE I KILLED HIM!”

“Killed who?” one of the people among the small crowd ask.

You’re silent for a moment, and then you begin to laugh. “Killed who...killed WHO? You don’t see the blood on my clothes? Or the knife in my hand? I KILLED HIM. MY FATHER.”

You hear gasps and murmuring among the crowd. Your mother’s jaw hangs wide open, and she croaks a small sound of horror. “You...you killed him?”

You feel yourself grinning again. “YEAH, I DID! WHAT DID YOU THINK I WAS GONNA DO?! JUST LET HIM BEAT ME UNTIL ONE DAY HE’D SNAP MY NECK, OR RIP ME APART...I would’ve DIED if I stayed with him!”

“You’re overreacting, Amy,” another voice from the crowd says.

For a moment, all you can see is red. Your hands turn into huge, clambering vixen paws, and you hurl your knife back in preparation to stab. She throws her hands in front of her face to defend herself, but that won’t do shit. You’ll be able to injure her either way. You cry out in your fox voice, still grinning widely.

That’s when white pierces the sky.

____

You know it’s not exactly an appropriate time to ask this, but what the hell?

Where did the grass go? And the leaves? And why is your mother gone? You aren’t going to complain, because that’s all you’ve ever wanted, but why the fuck did she just disappear? Did she simply vanish into thin air? And why do you hurt all over? You’re so tired, so confused...it feels like you should’ve disappeared, too. That would be great, if you were to fade from this world. Then no one could hurt you, and the hornets wouldn’t sting anymore.

You pick yourself up, and begin to walk away from the wreckage, still shaken up from everything. You’ve gotten better at walking on your injured leg. You’ve been forced to live with your injuries over the years, so it was pretty easy. The more you look around, the more you realize everything. There aren’t any girls  _ anywhere _ in this dull town. They’re all just...gone. And it seems like you’ve been asleep for longer than you’d like. Buildings have been destroyed, the birds are silent, and everything’s in ruins. God, what the fuck happened? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!

All of this sudden, a hand grips your shoulder. “Hello, baby girl!” a voice rasps. “Come with me, I have can-”

You take out your knife, holding it over your head, and the hand lets go. You look over your shoulder to see some creep in a horse mask staring at you. He’s wearing a pair of shitty black shorts, and no shirt. “Candy?” you utter.

The masked man tackles you to the ground, and the wind gets knocked out of you. The weight of his stout body almost distracts you from the abscence you feel in your hand, and you realize that your knife has been knocked out of it. You begin to claw at his back, begging for release, but he doesn’t give up. That is, up until you feel a strange frigid feeling in your palms, and he ceases to move. Like...he’s frozen.

It doesn’t take you long enough to realize that he literally  _ is _ frozen.

You break free from his weight, and you begin to reflect on  _ what the fuck you just did. _ Did you...did you just fucking freeze him? What the fuck?! WHAT IS LEGITIMATELY GOING ON?! This just has to be a dream...it just has to. None of this can possibly be real. This isn’t real life, it isn’t. It just can’t be. Magic isn’t real, all the women are still around, and a horse-masked piece of shit did  _ not _ just try to do what you think he tried to do.

But y’know what? Fine. If society really  _ is _ dying, you can live with that. The world already taught you survival, how to fight, how to kill. You can live in a shit world, because that’s what you’ve been doing. You’ll live through this because you’ve decided that if you could live through all of that, then you’re a goddess. Still a worthless goddess, but a goddess nonetheless. You are the captor of death, the thief of lives.

You are Fox, and this life is yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOOO were gettin close 2 the end!! yall r gonna scream when u see what the end is sdfghjmjhgf,,,but anyway now fox has 2 live w/ a bunch of disgusting pieces of shit who want to r/pe her which is!! terrible!! but luckily shit gets better 4 her...then it gets worse...hahahahahshdfgdjifghjigfjdifgjh  
> also YEAH fox has genetic powers i guess. she maka da ice-a


End file.
